


Summer Squash and Barley Salad.

by LongestFormCensus



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M, Offscreen but highly plot relevent and present Ro/Lo, Open Relationships, Voyeurism, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongestFormCensus/pseuds/LongestFormCensus
Summary: Lovett is lonely. Emily and Jon watch the Bachelor on Monday nights. Somehow, it all works out.





	Summer Squash and Barley Salad.

**Author's Note:**

> Ronan and Lovett are in a long distance, open-ish relationship, which is discussed in some detail at the top of this fic. If that isn't your thing, think about giving this one a pass. 
> 
> As always, be cool, don't spread it around, etc.

As in most things, the dog realizes that Lovett’s at the door before Jon does. Leo all but launches himself out of the kitchen towards the door, and Jon only avoids being taken out at the knees from long practice of dodging excited doodles, and the fact that he’s tucked into the counter by the sink, doing the dishes. 

 

Doorbell rings just after Leo sits down at the door, and he looks back at Jon imploringly.

 

“You get it,” Emily calls from the living room, “It’s either one of your friends or a Jehovah Witness, and you’re closer.”

 

“Really feeling the love,” Jon says back, but dries his hands and goes for the door anyway. 

 

He opens the door, polite ‘what can I do for you’ expression plastered on his face, expecting someone trying to sell him blinds or a paint job on his siding, and is instead faced with lovett, Pundit held to his chest.

 

“Hi,” Jon says, as Leo runs out to greet his sister. “We just finished dinner?”

 

“Great,” Lovett says, and pushes past him into the house, setting Pundit down as soon as he’s in the house, and the two dogs go tearing off into the living room.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Jon says, mostly in token protest, Lovett already in the kitchen

 

“Who is it?” Emily calls from the living room, “If it’s Jon, tell him he can help himself to the weird squash salad that Blue Apron sent over, I’m not going to finish it.”

 

“Do I get a say in this?” Favs asks.

 

“No,” Lovett and Emily chorus, and Favs sighs, as he follows Lovett into the kitchen.

 

“America,” Lovett announces, cracking open the tupperware full of barley and acorn squash and one of those not-spinach-or-lettuce greens that Jon always gets mixed up, “Should be smaller. Just get rid of everything between Utah and Kentucky. What’s Wyoming ever done for me. Squish the coasts together, see if we can’t get us down to one time zone, like any reasonable country. Get the drive from LA to New York into something you can do on a Friday night and come back Sunday night, have a weekend away. Where’s all that American ingenuity. Abolish middle america.”

 

“Wyoming invented the Christmas stocking,” Favs says

 

“Useless to me,” Lovett says, “also, how do you possibly know that, there’s no way that’s true.”

 

“Saw it on someone’s T shirt, while I was out there campaigning,” Favs said, “thought it sounded weird, so I looked it up.”

 

“Whatever.” Lovett says, “Get rid of every state you can draw with a ruler, the country would be better for it.”

 

“Um,” Jon says, like he usually does, when he’s waiting for Lovett to tell him something. Lovett hoists himself up on the counter, and stirs the salad morosely.

 

“All I want,” Lovett says, thoroughly mangling a piece of squash with a fork, “Is to be able to call my partner at ten at night without waking him up. Who does New York think it is, three hours ahead of us. That’s undrivable. Even a flight takes six fucking hours. He’s out there doing like, important, culture shaping journalism, or whatever, getting eight hours of sleep, like a professional, and I’m on the opposite coast playing tiddlywinks with a podcast, and staying up past midnight. I can’t wake him up, I’m not a monster.”

 

Emily emerges from the living room, heralded by a tiny stampede of goldendoodle.

 

“Wine in the fridge, if you want it,” She says, 

 

“Don’t encourage him,” Favs warns, as Lovett rummages for a glass “we’ll never get him to leave now.”

 

“Shut up, you in your healthy marriage, all successful and living in the same house,” Lovett says, “Sleeping in the same bed. Seeing each other every day. You people make me sick.”

 

“Aw, Lovett,” Emily says

 

“No, don’t be sorry for me, or I’ll cry, and no one wants that,” Lovett says, pointing at her with a glass of wine dangling dangerously from his hand, “I’m working up a good anger about this. Good frothy fury. Like eggs. You can't interrupt me or my souffle will collapse and I'll cry, and no one wants that. Let me beat these anger eggs a little while longer.”

 

Favs blinks. “Have you been binging that baking show again?” 

 

“I,” Lovett says archly “am  _ lonely.” _

 

“We’re gonna watch  _ Bachelor In Paradise _ , you wanna join us on the couch?” Emily offers.

 

“ _ Yes, _ ” Lovett says. 

 

Emily tucks her chin against Jon’s shoulder, arms wrapped securely around his waist.

 

“You okay, babe?”

 

“Not where I expected the evening to go,” Favs admits, quietly.

 

“You okay?” Emily says again

 

Jon turns over the new shape of the evening in his mind- two dogs in the kitchen, Lovett using the dark of the living room to curl closer than he would otherwise allow himself. How he would get warm, after two glasses of wine and take his sweater off. Favs arm, wrapped around his waist, stroking Lovett’s side with his thumb where his shirt rode up around his waist.

 

Favs shivers.

 

“Just adjusting,” Favs says, and turns around to grin at Emily. “Yeah. I’m good.”

 

Emily leans up to kiss him, hot and hard, before pulling away.

 

“Good,” she says, and presses her glass of wine into Jon's hand grinning, “I’m getting the rest of the bottle. I’ll meet you in the living room.”

 

Lovett’s already on the couch, legs folded underneath him like a kindergartner when he gets there, scowling at his phone. 

 

“Em’s rule is no phones during the Bachelor,” Favs says, “All colour commentary should be directed to her, not twitter.”

 

Lovett pulls a face. “Commercials?”

 

Normally, Jon and Emily made out during the commercials. The question of phones had never come up. “No phones during commercials either,” Jon says, “take it or leave it.”

 

Lovett groans, and clicks his phone to silent, slips it back in his pocket. “Emily runs this house like a  _ tyrant _ . I don’t know how you expect me to live like this.”

 

Jon raises his eyebrows, and sits beside him on the couch, stretches his arm out across the back of the couch. “You’re the one that invited yourself over. If you don’t like the Bachelor rules, you don’t have to stay.”

 

“Hey, no, I’m staying, I’ll be good,” Lovett says, hands raised, “I submit to B-Grade television authoritarianism. I’ll watch terrible people make bad romantic decisions without looking at my phone.”

 

“Good,” Emily says, appearing in the doorway with both the half-empty bottle of wine she and Jon had been working through, but a full bottle of wine and a corkscrew as well. She sets them on the coffee table “I’m not going to get up for the next hour and a half, does anyone need anything else?”

 

Favs gives her the thumbs up, and emily grins at both of them, and hits the lights. 

 

As Favs knew he would, as he always did, Lovett worms his way into Fav’s side as soon as the lights are off, and there’s a veneer of unreality of a darkened living room. It’s a stupid hangup, always had been, one Favs had never understood: Lovett will refuse physical affection of any kind until the lights are off, at which point he becomes a cuddler, a barnacle, a fixture under any arm that will fit him.

 

“Ok you’re going to have to fill me in,” Lovett says, as the ‘last time on’ highlight reel is playing, “Who are these terrible people, who are we rooting for.”

 

Emily settles on Fav’s other side, long legs crossed and bare feet propped up on the coffee table, as she tries to explain the horrific knot of seasons-long drama, of friends and fake friends and nemesis and who had been caught making out with who in hot tubs.

 

“Oh, and Cindy-” Emily points at the screen, at a woman in a bikini with hair down to the small of her back, “has been sorta toying with both Brad and Daniel for the last couple of episodes, so that’s probably going to come to a head tonight.”

 

Sure enough, the highlight reel cuts to Cindy making out with one man, than another, set to dramatic music better suited for the unveiling of a murderer.

 

“Wow, go Cindy,” Lovett says, “Are there any men on this show without six packs?”

 

“No,” Emily says happily, “and mostly they walk around shirtless.”

 

“This show  _ rules _ ,” Lovett says, and leans forward to pour himself more wine, “I can’t believe I’ve never seen it before.”

 

He leans back into the couch, curling his legs differently, which Favs only notices because it means he ends up pressed closer to Favs chest. Favs lets his arm fall along the improbable, slanted slope of Lovett’s shoulder and side, now fully diagonal on the couch. 

 

On screen, there’s a conversation about dates and roses that Favs couldn’t care less about, and his fingers skirt the bottom hem of Lovett’s shirt. Lovett shivers. 

 

“That’s your own fault, Em’s been inviting you over for years,” Favs says, as someone on screen cannonballs into the pool, inspiring shrieks, “You kept saying it was a celebration of straightness you would have no part in.”

 

“Which, fair,” Emily concedes, “there’s not really an argument against that.”

 

They watch, sniping back and forth about the relative straightness of various reality TV shows, until Emily hushes them all to hear Cindy talking to the camera about her two men.

 

“I mean, Brad’s a great guy, but we’re just having fun, really. Daniel, I have feelings for, but he’s pretty understanding, and Brad is  _ fun _ . I mean, we’re all in paradise to have fun, right?” and then she giggles, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Besides, I’ve seen Dan watching. I think he likes it.”

 

“Wow,” Emily says, “ _ go Cindy _ . She’s living the dream out there.”

 

“Go Dan and Cindy,” Lovett says, “I believe in you, you crazy kids. Make it work. We did.” which has the approximate effect of sounding an airhorn in the living room.

 

The show continues on in the background, as Favs slowly turns to look at Lovett.

 

“Wait,” Emily says, leaning forward so she can look at him without Favs getting in the way, “ _ what?” _

 

“I’ve been in a relationship for seven years, and of those, we have lived in the same city for  _ one _ ,” Lovett says, “We’ve been operating on a ‘hookup, but tell me about it afterwards’ basis for  _ years _ .”

 

Lovett reaches for the bottle of wine, doing an admirable job of pretending he hasn’t just disclosed a bizarre and intimate part of his sex life. “It’s not like I’m  _ dating _ anyone else.”

 

“Oh my god,” Emily says, “What, you get on the phone and debrief afterwards?”

 

Lovett wiggles his eyebrows salaciously. “Best part of the night.”

 

Emily chokes, on her wine, and has to put the glass down, from laughing. 

 

“Wait,” Favs says, “Are you here tonight because you didn’t want to go out and wake him up?”

 

“No,” Lovett says, “I’m here because I’m  _ lonely _ and the only gay bars open on monday nights are filled with Hollywood twenty somethings that all look like  _ that _ -” he gestures at the screen, where two men are talking at a bar, both shirtless, “And there’s only so much of that an ego can take before you start staying home and watching baking shows.”

The image of Lovett, in the back of a bar, pressed up against the chest of one of those twenty-something Hollywood types stampedes to the front of Favreau’s mind with unexpected ferocity. He wonders if Lovett was as physically affectionate in clubs and bars, if he was going out and pressing up against stranger’s sides to order drinks, flirting by sheer proximity.

 

He settles back against Fav’s side, like a cat rubbing itself against his legs. “Not that I’d be like, against it, if it was on the table, but again, the club scene  _ sucks _ , and I refuse to download an app. I’m thirty five, I’m morally opposed to learning the moves of a new hookup scene.”

 

Favs swallows, dryly, as Lovett’s heat presses back up against his side.

 

On screen, Cindy is making out with Brad. Dan, watching from the other side of the lounge, does seem to be enjoying the show.

 

“Did I make this weird?” Lovett asks. 

 

“Not at all,” Emily says. Favs can hear the mild strain in her voice. Lovett’s shoulder feels hot under his arm.

 

“Really, because I feel like I made this weird. Sorry if I ruined your reality show night.”

 

“No I’m just- thinking about it. Now.” Emily says. Favs can see her turning red, and her hand settles on his thigh, promising. 

 

This, Lovett catches.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” he says, and pulls away from Jon’s side. “Should I beat it?”

 

Lovett looks rumpled, and wine warm, shirt still riding up an inch or two over the top of his pants. Favs reaches a hand over, settles it on top of his leg before he can uncurl and get off the couch.

 

“I’d rather if you didn’t,” Favs says, for the pleasure of watching his face turn red underneath his glasses. Lovett swallows hard.

 

Lovett darts a glance between him and Emily. “Should I move to the other couch?”

 

Emily presses herself against Jon’s back, and rests her chin on his shoulder, “No,” she says thoughtfully, “That would make this much harder, I think. For you two.”

 

The implicit permission spikes hot and sudden in Fav’s gut, and he turns to look at Emily. 

 

“You sure?” He says.

 

“Sure,” She says, “But I’m not the one you should be asking, right now.”

 

She gestures back to Lovett with her chin, who has been watching the exchange, wide-eyed. Favs spreads the fingers of the hand on Lovett’s thigh, runs his thumb along the inside of his leg.

 

“You good?” Favs asks.

 

“I will be honest, I am no longer sure what’s happening.” Lovett says, “Are you asking my permission to hook up with me on the couch?”

 

“Well I thought you’d make out for me first, and we’d see how it goes,” Emily says, and Favs shudders. 

 

“Jesus,” Lovett says, quietly, “How long has  _ that _ been going on.”

 

“You really want to talk about this right now?” Favs asks, as Emily peels herself off his back, and settles back in the corner of the couch, to let him move closer to Lovett. 

 

“No, that’s fair,” Lovett says, “We can talk about that later.”

 

Favs gets up on his knees, to turn towards Lovett, braces himself on the back of the couch. Up on his knees, he towers over Lovett, still sitting. 

 

“Yeah?” Favs says again, enjoying the height difference the way he always had, when he had imagined doing this with Lovett, suddenly real and tangible and sending liquid heat surging through his veins. 

 

“Sure,” Lovett says, “Fuck it.” and reaches out to grab Fav’s shirt.

 

Lovett pulls him in the rest of the way, and there’s a split second for Favs to appreciate Lovett’s face, close and hot, the stubble on his jaw, before their mouths connect.

 

Lovett still tastes like white wine, and his glasses bump Favs nose on contact. His mouth is hot and sweet, and Jon can’t quite believe that he’s allowed to do this, to press his mouth to Lovett’s, too feel Lovett’s hands clenched in his shirt and pull him down further into the couch cushions. 

 

Lovett scrapes his teeth gently against Fav’s bottom lip, and he can’t help gasping into Lovett’s mouth. In retaliation, and because it seems only fair, Favs lets one of his hands wander down to the stripe of skin at Lovett’s waist, and slips it under his shirt. He hears, on the other side of the couch, the soft clink of Emily's belt coming undone, and smiles into Lovett's mouth.  


 

He explores Lovett’s soft stomach and chest with one hand, wrist catching against the edge of his shirt, and ducks his head down to nip at Lovett’s jaw.

 

Lovett groans and arches up both into Fav’s mouth and his hand, prompting Favs to push him back down into the couch.

 

Lovett goes with an ‘oof’, and a wide-eyed look of shock. Favs scoots up the couch, and settles with one knee on either side of Lovett’s hips. 

 

“Good?” Favs asks, one hand still roaming Lovett’s chest

 

“ _ Yes _ , you menace, come  _ back _ here,” Lovett says.

 

Favs obligingly leans down, but skips Lovett’s mouth to kiss at his neck, biting gently at the soft side of his throat.

 

“Oh my god,” Lovett croaks, burying an hand in Fav’s hair. 

 

Favs presses another series of wet, open kisses to Lovett’s throat, feeling the pulse jump under his tongue, and when he thumbs a nipple, he can feel Lovett’s moan in his teeth. 

 

He had intended to take his time with it, to draw out as many whimpers and moans from Lovett as he could, just teeth and lips and hands on his chest. 

 

Lovett, apparently, has other ideas, because he presses one thigh up between Favs legs that makes the breath catch in his chest, and makes him brace, panting on the couch. 

 

“What, wasn’t going to let you have all the fun,” Lovett pants, and presses with his knee again, tearing a moan from Fav’s throat. 

 

“Fuck,” Favs hears Emily say, distantly, “make him do that again.”

 

Lovett pulls Fav’s head back down, and Favs can feel the smile on Lovett’s face, before they’re kissing deep and filthy, Lovett’s teeth in his bottom lip in a way that inspires Favs to grind back against the knee between his legs. Lovett slides his hands up Fav’s thighs, thumb digging into the muscle, before moving up to his cup his ass, still kissing him. Lovett uses this new grip to pull him closer, suddenly not grinding against Lovett’s thigh at all, but against the hardness in between his own legs. 

 

Favs realizes he has much better things to do with his hands than press Lovett’s shoulder to the couch, and pulls it down to fumble with Lovett’s fly. He gets Lovett’s pants open, and Lovett tilts his hips up just enough for Favs to slide them and Lovett’s boxers together off his ass. He fumbles to get his own pants open, even as Lovett’s complicating matters by tugging Fav’s shirt off. 

 

The shirt clears his ears, and Emily gives an appreciative moan from somewhere behind him on the couch. Lovett’s shirt is is still on, although rucked up under his arms, which Favs will have to settle for because Lovett’s lying back down and pulling Favs with him.

 

Favs settles back down, nearly lying on top of Lovett, so he can get one hand around both of their cocks at once.

 

Lovett lets out a broken moan underneath him, and thrusts up into Fav’s loose fist. He traces the vein on the underside of Lovett’s cock with his thumb for the way it makes him arch up under him, pressing desperately into Fav’s fingers. 

 

“Move your fucking  _ hand _ , Jon,” Lovett says, voice cracking.

 

When has Jon ever been able to refuse Lovett? He moves his hand, tight and fast and dirty, both of them leaking precome over his fingers. He hears Emily ‘s breath get fast and desperate, behind him, enjoying the show and his cock twitches at the sound. She sounds so  _ close _ , and then there’s Lovett, spread out below him, gasping in time with every movement of Fav’s hand.

 

“Come on, Come on, just like that, god, yeah,  _ yeah _ ,” Lovett babbles, digging his fingernails into the back of Fav’s back. 

 

Favs feels Emily’s hand, fingers wet, touch the small of his back, encouraging, and that’s all it takes for Favs to come with a grunt, spilling over Lovett’s soft stomach. 

 

It only takes a few seconds more for Lovett to follow, and he comes with a moan, his head tipped back and his throat on display almost obscenely. 

 

Favs sits backwards, against Emily and away from Lovett, but lets their legs tangle in the middle of the couch.

 

Emily slips a hand around his waist, and threads her fingers with his, both of them sticky. Jon presses a kiss to their intertwined knuckles.

 

“Good?” She asks, as though she hadn’t been a spectator the whole time.

 

“Jesus,” Lovett says, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Yeah. I’m going to have to invite myself over more often.”

 

“Better than going out to a bar?” Favs asks.

 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, it’s not cute,” Lovett says, and makes no move to get up. “You know damn well what you are.”

“He is, isn’t he,” Emily says, voice deep and satisfied in a way that makes Favs shivver. 

 

“Still,” Emily continues, “Next time, instead of going out-”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Lovett says, “I will say, I’m certainly looking forward to this conversation.”

 

Favs thinks about Lovett, on the phone, hand down his boxers, talking about how Favs had him pinned to the couch, and feels his face flush.

 

On screen, two people on a beach are yelling at each other. 

 

“Morons,” Emily says about them quietly, settling Jon’s chest more comfortably in her lap. 

 

“Poor idiots,” Lovett pipes up, from the other side of the couch, pants dangling open around his thighs, feet tangled in between Fav’s legs on the couch “If you can’t sort through base level relationship drama on an  _ island _ with nothing to do but  _ talk about it _ , I don’t know what hope any of them have in the real world, where there’s actual complications.”

 

Favs puts his hand on Lovett’s shin, underneath his jeans, and strokes his leg. 

 

“The beach does look nice though,” Favs says, for the sake of saying something. 

 

“Favs, I have good news for you about this place we live called California,” Lovett says, “All the beaches of wherever they shoot this show, and at least triple the number of healthy adults and relationships founded on communication.”

  
Favs smiles, "Sounds like a good trade to me."  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As ever, thanks to my wonderful beta atthepleasureofthepundit/handsomeobamaintherain, who is a filthy enabler and the world's best cheerleader.


End file.
